


Pick Apart Every Piece of Me

by spidergweb, thegoodthebadandthenerdy



Series: Totally Spiders! [3]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Cool Spy Gadgets, F/F, Gen, Rescue Missions, Spies & Secret Agents, Totally Spies! AU, every spy franchise needs a ski lodge mission, friendship! cool fight scenes! self indulgent cameos!, spy AU, this is that mission, which isnt an actual tag but. should be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-10 02:33:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14728307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spidergweb/pseuds/spidergweb, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoodthebadandthenerdy/pseuds/thegoodthebadandthenerdy
Summary: A call goes up from an operative in the field, and the trio are tasked with retrieving them.





	Pick Apart Every Piece of Me

**Author's Note:**

> a little worldbuilding for yall in the form of a fic tht was supposed to be like. 2k at the most hshshs
> 
> title from machine by misterwives

"Liz."

"Liiiiiiiz."

"Shit, what's Liz short for? Liz, Elizabeth, Eliza, Lizard-"

Sigh.

A new tone, softly, " _Lizzie_."

Liz cracks her eyes open at the same time, squinting against the artificial light that cuts across her face and those above her.

"Guys?" she croaks. "What time is it?" she adds, rolling to her side and palming around for the glasses that rested somewhere on her indiscernable nightstand.

"Here," that soft voice says, pushing the frames into her hand.

"Thanks," Liz mutters, pushing them up the bridge of her nose. "What's going on?"

Gwen's unmistakable blonde, cut through with pink and teal highlights underneath, comes into view. Her eyes are wide with wakefulness, cheeks barely flushed. 

They'd climbed the lattice again, Liz knew.

Next was MJ's sleep-soft face, barely pulled back hair, and tired eyes hidden behind clunky reading glasses - she's been going over a briefing, then. Which meant an op.

"What happened?" Liz asks instead, still having not gotten an answer to anything as she threw her fluffy, pale-yellow duvet back off her body.

"Call went up from another operative in the field," MJ starts, rubbing at her face under her glasses. "But no one could get any read on her afterward. They're tentatively calling it a rescue op, but I don't know."

The unspoken thought of this possibly becoming a recovery mission passes between all three of them in that moment.

Liz looked down at her PJs - blue flannel pants and a thick, ribbed tank top. It'll have to do, she can change on the ship.

"Heads up," MJ calls, tossing a ball to Liz a moment later.

Liz catches it deftly, feeling soft fabric beneath her fingers. She only had a second to inspect them, but she finds them to be a tightly folded pair of thick, warm socks. 

Liz's lips quirk into a smile. It's the pair she always steals from MJ when they hang out during the winter. They're plain, nothing special, but they're obscenely comfortable, and Liz loves them.

"Thanks, 'chelle," she replies.

"Ah, what about me?" Gwen pouts good-naturedly as she and MJ head back toward the window.

"It's karma," MJ replies simply, and Gwen pulls a face.

"As laudable as your grudge-holding is, MJ," Good, at least she knows what it's karma for. "Mine's gonna be so much more. And when my feet fall off from coldness, I'm gonna tell their ghosts to haunt you."

"Gwen, literally what the fuck," MJ says patiently as she begins her descent back down the lattice outside Liz's bedroom window.

Liz loves this. The bickering of her best friends, her confidants, her _team_. It can get annoying when tensions are high or morale is low, but in moments like this it's just the amount of comfort she craves.

She waits until they're both distracted, the bottom half of MJ dangling out her window before she protests. "Hey, guys," she calls. "You know we can just use the front door, yeah?"

MJ cuts her eyes over Gwen's shoulder at Liz, mouth not visible at their current angles, but no doubt tugging upward. "You're such a little shit, Lizzie."

"Yeah, but you two love it."

\-----

They're on the ship and off to wherever in the world they're needed in record time. The flight's gonna be a good handful of hours, according to MJ, or a veritable snoozefest, according to Gwen.

But even with the time that stretches out in front of them, none of them have even considered sleep, even if they were woken up in the dead middle of their cycles.

Gwen's spread across the floor, still in Hello Kitty PJs with her hair now tugged back. She's tapping incessantly at her tablet, flicking through the briefing and all the information they have over and over again.

Pushed against the far wall and bolted into the ship is a couch, and on that couch sits MJ. She's in an oversized Harvard sweatshirt and even baggier sweatpants, feet bare, with glasses still at home on the bridge of her nose. 

Her stainless steel travel mug is wafting out tea-scented steam as she peers down at her own tablet, researching something she'd found in the brief that hadn't clicked the three times over she'd read it.

Liz is on the opposite couch, her long legs strewn across its brown cushions, head propped up on a pillow she's pretty sure Gwen cross-stiched in her "spare time." Her (delightfully warm) feet are propped up on the other arm of the couch, holding her thighs at an angle with which she can settle her file against.

She can't read their briefings on the tablets, it being something that nearly always flares up migraine at the base of her skull. And in any instance that she needs to be reading a briefing, she probably can't afford to be down with heightened light sensitivity, a killer combo of vertigo/nausea, and the want for nothing more than to be in her bed with an eye mask on, the fan whirring, and a helluva lot of pain killers in her system.

The silence that surrounds the three girls is infinite and suffocating, but they can't seem to find it in themselves to break it. Usually music plays however softly around them through the speaker system hidden throughout the ship, but even that hasn't been awoken in their presence.

Gwen sighs fitfully, her usually cheerful demeanor pulled taught across her lips in something she's obviously trying to keep from being a grimace.

Finally, MJ tosses her tablet to her side and hunches in on herself, forehead pressed against her carefully balanced mug. Voice muffled, she calls out to the ship, "Interface, call Ned."

 _Calling Ned Leeds, computer emoji, magnifying glass emoji, top hat emoji,_ Interface replies in its neutral tone.

The ship rings three times before Ned answers, his voice thick with sleep and a forceful yawn. "Hello?" he answers.

"Hey, Ned," MJ calls, still face-planted into herself. Gwen follows suit and greets him, as does Liz, the latter trying to add in a little extra sweetness, knowing it has to still be early as shit back on the east coast.

"Hey -" his voice cuts out slightly, like he's turned away from the speaker. "Go back to sleep, it's the girls; I'll be back."

There's a grumble in the background of the call that the three girls are well acquainted with. Gwen huffs a laugh, and Liz's lips lift into a smile.

"Tell Peter we'll return you as promptly as possible," Gwen calls.

"He's already passed back out," Ned replies with a fond laugh. 

A moment later, his voice is louder, clearer, and Liz knows he's moved to his little desktop setup.

"Sorry to interrupt your break," MJ says sincerely as she finally lifts her head. 

"Sounds like you guys got interrupted, too," he says before adding, "Besides, you think winter break stops my boyfriend's 'gotta help everyone everywhere at once' complex?"

Liz can hear the purse to his lips and her smile widens.

"No," Gwen says unnecessarily, finally pawning her tablet off to her side in favor of staring up at the ceiling. "But you'd think mid-terms would've taken some of the wind out of his sails."

"God, I wish," Ned mumbled. 

There's soft sounds in the background of the call as he boota his computer up, and they all bask in the comfortable air around them before it has to be broken.

"All right, what's up?" he finally asks.

"We need you to do some digging," MJ states.

\-----

They're around ten minutes out from the drop location. The phonecall with Ned had ended about an hour before, only a few questions fully answered, the rest left to their own devices planting seeds of doubt and worry in the minds of the three girls.

Gwen's the first to move with intentiom from her spot where she'd been planted for the whole flight.

"Let's get suited," being all she says before disappearing down the hall.

Liz rolls her head to the side, facing MJ, and groans as loudly as she could.

"Shut up," MJ replies, but her face is soft and pliant when her lips move into the approximation of a smile.

"Well fine," Liz says throwing her hands up. "You remember that when you want these socks back."

"Lizzie," MJ starts with this featherlight laugh marring the way her tongue curls around Liz's name. "You can keep the damn socks if you love them so much."

"Oh, and now you've invalidated my threat, what's the point in anything then," Liz jokes.

MJ shakes her head, an incredulous snort sounding from her in a way that flares heat across Liz's neck and inside her chest. 

"I always knew getting in line with a theatre kid would come back around to bite me in the ass," she states as she pushes herself up off the couch.

"You take one Advanced theatre class and your friends never let you live it down," Liz mumbles.

"Weren't you literally Ms. Shaw's TA senior year?" MJ asks bluntly.

"Didn't you literally run our whole tech department for a month that same year when Jenni Rice's family abruptly moved right in the middle of rehearsals for our winter production?" Liz shot back.

"Touché."

 _Seven minutes until drop-off. The optimal window for suiting is closing,_ Interface interrupts.

\-----

Liz has always loved their suits.

She didn't like to think about it all that much, but as a kid, she and her father had a shared pass time of consuming all manner of spy-related material. Movies and TV shows, books and comics. It was their _thing_.

And while Liz had loved it, the older the got, the more she noticed the obvious trend vis a vis the costume design for the chosen few women who graced her screen or page.

So when the spy thing had come up, she'd be equal parts excited and nervous and _hesitant_. She wasn't about to chafe her way through saving the world because her suit was designed by someone who needed a decent anatomy course and at least a few pounds more of common sense.

Which, allinall, sucked. Liz loved clothes, saw the potential they had to aid in this new horizon she was embarking upon. Sleek dresses, crop tops, workout wear, sweatpants - it could all _work_ , and so _easily_ too, if only it were optioned out in the right way.

But their suits….

They'd ended up exceeding every expectation she'd had. 

They were form-fitting, but they still gave her room to breath and to twist and to contort and to move.

They were made of some kind of sturdy fabric not yet released upon the public - not quite bullet or blade proof, but not lace, either. The roughness of the material was comforting under her fingertips, and the softer edge of the inside fabric, purely for comfort and ease, was that tenfold.

And, all right, they looked super fucking badass when they all lined up together in their suits.

Like they were now, actually.

Gwen was farthest to Liz's right, adjusting the straps on her parachute. Her suit was the base charcoal that all their's were, reaching from the middle of her throat to her wrists to her ankles.

In the right light, the suit sent back shadows of writhing pink - the color of the raised trails that raced all along the fabric, which acted like suction cups, letting her scuttle across whatever substances she pleased.

On her feet and her hands rest high-top looking shoes and boxer's wrappings respectively, each that base gray shade, with sheens of teal, just like the underside of her blunt bob.

Beside her stands MJ, tapping around on her tablet in last minute preperation. 

Her suit's undertone is an oozing red the color of oxygenated blood that seeps along every untouched-by-shadow part of her. She prefers fingerless black gloves to Gwen's wrappings, and the same color of combat boot-esque shoes to the other's high tops.

Liz's own suit has all the same style of her counterparts, though her suit instead arcs with a yellow so pale it almost seems white. It cracks like lightning in the light when she twists and turns, shooting electricity through her veins. 

She keeps full gloves on her hands and shoes that slip on like socks, but lend the support to her arches that she needs.

To pull them all together in a way that screams "we're a team" as if the suits aren't enough are the belts.

All three of them had been adverse to them at first, but they quickly learned to rely on them.

They're slick, silver things that click around their waists, the only adornment on them a medium sized spider in the center. It holds immeasurable tricks inside its, for all intents and purposes, small form. Despite its size, though, it's saved their lives countless times.

_Position over drop off perfect; countdown for the closing of the best window to jump initiating. Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight-_

MJ slides around Liz, the former's shoulder brushing against the middle of latter's back as she sets her tablet down quickly before getting back in line.

_Fifty, forty-nine-_

Gwen clasps MJ's hand, and MJ does the same to Liz, each girl squeezing only once before they drop hands.

"All right girls, let's go rescue a spy," Gwen says as she slams her palm onto the scanner/keypad beside the doors.

They slide open, letting the rapid wind tug at the unsecured blonde hair on Gwen's head. MJ's ponytail fairs only a little better, loose waves still curling around to smack her cheeks. Wispy, broken hairs that had fallen from Liz's sloppy plait kiss her forehead and her cheeks as she turns to give her best friends one last encouraging look.

She keeps her eyes locked on Gwen as her first foot leaves the safety beneath her, but she switches quickly over to MJ's as the floor falls away completely and she leaps.

She _has_ always been the one to dive in first.

\-----

"You have got to be fuckin' kidding me," are the first words that anyone says as they break out of the needle-y pine trees and into a wide opening.

Specifically, they're MJ's words, but she echoes the sentiment of the whole trio in them.

"I'm having such intense High School Musical flashbacks right now," Gwen states.

Liz just looses peals of delighted laughter.

"Gwen, you'll be my Troy Bolton, won't you?" she finally manages to get out between her huffs of laughter.

"You know it, babe," Gwen says with a firecracker grin, leaning around MJ so it's shot right in her direction.

"Didn't wanna duet with either of you anyway," MJ mutters as she tugs at her belt for no reason.

"Aw, 'chelle," Liz says with pursed lips that barely contain her grin.

"Let's just get covered before we get caught," MJ replies with no bite, just pulling lips that betray her.

The girls finally sober enough to fiddle at the legs of their spiders. It takes a few seconds, but soon a scanner pops out of each spider body and like a spray-paint nozzle, coats each girl in a weather appropriate outfit.

Liz smiles down at her new puffy yellow vest, slipping her hand inside the pocket of the pants' projection - because that's what it is, a holographic, full-body projection - where she finds her hand instead inside of her suit.

She tugs out the cool metal chain, and doesn't even have to look to know MJ and Liz are doing the same.

Liz takes the gold clasp between her fingers and undoes it before she stretches it around her throat and reclasps it.

The yellow diamond sparks the light that's refracting off the layer of snow beneath their feet. It's tiny, not even the size of a pea, and it sits perfectly just in the concave of her throat.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees MJ don her similarly shaped and strung ruby, and though she can't see the actual centerpiece, she sees Gwen going through the familiar paces to snap the clasp to her teal apatite.

"Is this thing on, little ladies?" Gwen asks aloud in a horrible Elvis impression, lip curled and hips swaying just for dramatic effect.

MJ gives a reluctant snort when the sound repeats through her and Liz's necklaces. "I told you to stop doing that," she says, but Gwen knows she doesn't mean it.

"Are we ready?" Liz interjects.

"Yeah," MJ says. "The usual fan pattern?" she adds.

"And kick ass if anyone gives you trouble about it," Liz adds.

"But try not to get arrested again," Gwen amends with a sheepish slope to her shoulders.

"Exactly."

\-----

Liz loses track of MJ and Gwen the moment they enter the building. Which, to be fair, is literally their plan.

The ski lodge - because that's exactly what it is, much to Liz's delight - is cozy. There's a fire rumbling in a huge, open fireplace, attracting a small crowd of older adults and younger children, and plenty of communal furniture to fall across.

And as nice as the warmth and the low chatter and the soft classical music that's playing through an ancient, crackling speaker system is, Liz is already on edge around any and everything.

This isn't the kind of place that a skilled operative goes abruptly, yet completely off the grid at. This isn't the kind of place that houses people dangerous enough to make that happen. 

But it obviously does, right?

That's the biggest thing Liz has forced herself to relearn. Face value isn't the bottom line, it's the surface, and that can be hiding the most gruesome things the world has to offer, or at the very least, can be horribly, devastatingly misleading.

And now isn't the time for distraction. There's a woman somewhere in here, and she's in a world of danger.

With that not so gentle reminder, Liz buckles back down, preparing to do what she does best. Synthesize data.

Liz has been studying her whole life. Spelling tests, pop quizzes, SATs and ACTs, entrance exams, finals, briefings, files upon files of evidence and information. People.

Three guesses as to which is her favorite, and the first two don't count.

She casts her eyes around the room nimbly, bouncing from one person to the next as quickly as possible, but never before she's taken what she needs.

There's a man in the middle of the room picking his teeth with his pinky nail, a child in the corner subtly drawing on the wallpaper, a woman dressed in faux furs trying to pass them off as the real thing. 

And there's a girl, maybe twelve, acting like she's reading a book, but is instead reading the room.

Liz's eyes pass over her without a second thought.

The thing about studying is that absorbing the information isn't enough. You have to be able to apply it. To synthesize, yes, constructing something new from your own knowledge can be a life-saver, in a pinch. But knowing how to understand the data you've been given and drawing rapid-fire conclusions before you even get to a point of needing to create? That's what it's all about.

And that's why Liz ignores the non-reading girl, and instead focuses back on the man picking his teeth.

He's meant to be innocuous, sitting in a well-lit portion of the room, dressed in friendly colors, eyes steady upon the roaring fire, close enough in proximity to other people that he might just pass off as one of their group.

And that's what gets him.

In a room full of people, he is completely and utterly alone. The body language of everyone around him completely and unabashedly ignores him. They have no remorse for not including him, hell, not a single person even _tries_ to do so.

And yet, he seems utterly engaged. The quickest nod of his head, the barest move of his lips, the quick tap, tap, tap of his fingertips.

He's being fed instructions.

Liz clears her throat once, their overarching signal for _I'm going in_. She moves swiftly, but makes sure it doesn't seem like she's suddenly made a bee-line for this man.

She approaches carefully from behind him, resting her hand just on his shoulder and squeezing as hard as she dares. 

He doesn't flinch - he'd been expecting her, then.

Bending down, she murmurs a quick, "How about you come with me?" just above his ear.

Damn near imperceptibly, his free hand twitches toward his pocket on the same side. A weapon, Liz surmises, something to watch out for.

She releases him and rounds the couch, heading off toward a nearby hallway she scoped out on her way across the room.

"I…may have engaged," she mumbles under her breath as she breezily conquers the floorboards beneath her. "Northeast corridor, right off the main room."

"Jesus, Lizzie," comes MJ's huff through the necklace. 

"Fuck it up, Lizard!" says Gwen in a stage whisper.

Liz has to fight the smile away from her face.

The moment Liz enters the hallway, she's on guard. For good reason, it seems, because immediately thereafter a hand clamps around her shoulder.

Rolling her eyes, she gets to work. To anyone on the outside looking in she's a blur of a well put together, color-coded winter ensemble that is one moment standing perfectly still with a hand on her shoulder, and the next standing above an equally well-dressed man who is now on his back on the ground, groaning.

Pressing a foot into the middle of his chest with just enough pressure to get his attention, she says, "Where are you holding the captive."

It's not a question, because she'll find out one way or the other, this would just be the easiest course of action.

He coughs slightly, and she has just enough time to pull her leg back before he lashes out to madly grab at her. His fingers glance off the top of her foot, slipping right through the hologram, which is what gains her the extra second she needs.

She plants her feet as he flips to his, hand going to that pocket. He unleashes a wicked blade that curves and dips and is, allinall, really uninviting.

She makes sure to tell him as much when she kicks at his wrist and frees his grip on it. She gives one more powerful kick to send it skittering down the hall, and then turns her full attention to him.

He leads with his fists, as they usually do, and she lets him land once glancing blow on her shoulder before she retaliates.

He's surprisingly fluid, rolling with her movements like the tide around sand. Even still, it isn't enough. He's very obviously the tiny entrée for what's probably supposes to be an overwhelming main course, and thus ends up with his neck in the crook of her casually muscular arm.

"Where's the captive?" she demands once more, teeth gritted and flyaway hairs haloing around her.

"Her body, you mean?" he grunts back.

Shitfuckdamn.

"Where is she?" she repeats, the muscles under her skin pinching in fear. They couldn't be too late, oh god-

"She's already below ground," he snaps back, leg twitching in what she already knows to be preparation to break from her hold.

Tilting her hand quickly in a just-so manner, she presses her splayed fingers against his neck and delivers a small enough electric jolt to knock him out, but not kill him.

"Sound off," she says huffing softly, hunched in on her side.

"Upper levels, scoping out the rooms," comes Gwen's voice.

"I'm staring at an impossible door," MJ throws in.

"Huh?" Gwen.

"It wasn't on any of the sets of blueprints we looked at, not even the first gen ones Ned pulled for us."

"Send up your beacon, I'm coming to find you," Liz demands, straightening back up.

"Did you finish your sweep?" MJ asks.

"Nothing concrete from the plant in the main room," she reponds, heading farther down the hall. "He was…alluding to the possibility of her already being dead."

"Ah, hell," Gwen murmurs at that.

"But it was in the run of the mill cryptic villain speak. Chelle, where are you exactly?"

"I'm pretty sure I'm under the entirety of the known building."

"Like underground?" Liz replies as she steps over the knife she'd discarded down the hall moments earlier.

"Uh, yeah, definitely."

Thinking better of it, Liz crouches down and scoops the knife up, tucking it into her belt where it presses into the small of her back as she slinks off toward where MJ is.

\-----

"No, yeah, I see what you mean about the impossible thing," Liz says, standing side by side with MJ, their shoulders pressed together in their matching crossed-arm stances.

She cocks her head to the side, as if it'll enhance whatever she's seeing.

"Already tried that," MJ comments distractedly at her.

"What even is it made of?" she asks, motioning at the obsidian colored metal (?) off-handedly.

"I'm not sure, but you can hear electricity humming through it. I'm guessing it's loaded on the other side, maybe?"

"Which means she's probably, most-definitely on the other side."

"Exactly."

Pause.

"So, can I try to flush it?" Liz asks.

Longer pause.

"You gotta wait 'til Gwen gets here, I'm not carrying your sorry, singed ass up all those stairs by myself when this backfires."

"You know damn well Gwen would be laughing her ass off and be of no help at all."

"That's not true," comes Gwen's whisper through both of their necklaces. "I'd take pictures, too."

"Shut up," Liz says with a grin.

"Just give me 2.2, Sparky. I'm trying to make my way past this super gross couple who are literally trying to eat one another's faces in the middle of this hallway."

"Godspeed," MJ hums.

A record three minutes later, Gwen comes stumbling down the hall, a palm frond in her hands who are projected to be bare with little black spiderwebs painted on the white background of her nails.

"All right, I'm here," she announces. "Do your thing and make the other thing do its thing."

"You taking that in as protection?" MJ asks, pointing at the greenery in their third's hand.

Gwen looks down at it as if she's just realized its there. "Shit," she mutters, then, "Just roll with it, I'll figure something out."

Liz sets to fiddling with her fingers, alternating this with pressing her ear to the wall by the humming door. Finally, she seems to settle on a voltage, and instructs the others to stand back.

"This should work," she says tentatively. "But if it doesn't, Gwen I implore you to make sure you get my good side."

"It's the least I can do," Gwen agrees.

Liz shakes her hands out nervously, turning her face to the ceiling, closing her eyes, and breathing in one languid, deep breath.

"Here goes nothing."

\-----

Liz's hands are buzzing incessantly, but other than that, she's in one piece and still on her feet. 

The door had given a terrible metal-upon-metal (still debatable) scream, one concentrated _thunk!_ , and then partially swung open.

The three girls stood in front of the cracked opening, each with similar unsure expressions, and each trying not to breath the smell of crackling electricity in the air.

"So, like, morally, and I guess contractually, if we're getting into that, we have to go in," Gwen begins.

"But that looks creepy as fuck?" Liz offers, hand outstretching slightly toward the darkness gaping in front of them.

"Yeah."

"Well," MJ says. "It's been a good run."

"Mm," Liz hums.

"MJ, I was the one that accidentally spilled chocolate milk on your tablet," Gwen confesses, eyes faced unwaveringly forward.

"I know, Gwen."

"Gwen, I'm the one who borrowed your headphones and got them so tangled that one time. I was stress twirling them while I was listening to a lecture."

"I know, Liz."

"I'm the one who's always pilfering snacks off the ship."

"We know, MJ."

Liz is the first one to cross the threshold.

\-----

A solid fact of every group they've ever been a part of has always been that where Liz is, MJ isn't far behind, and vice versa.

That's why it's too late for MJ by the time they realize what's happening. 

The moment Liz crosses the threshold, she can feel the shift, but she can't get her mouth to move fast enough to stop MJ.

"Gwen! Stop- don't move!" she cries, hand flying to MJ's shoulder to steady her.

"What the hell?" MJ murmurs with bunched brows, looking down at her body.

Achingly slow, their projections fizzle out, disappearing the same way they came.

The same happens to Liz, until they stand there in their suits, dumbstruck expressions matching too.

Liz is the first to fumble at her belt, tugging at the legs on her spider, trying to pull her projection back up. When that doesn't work, she tries at anything else she can think of - her electricity is gone, her projections are down, her com/necklace doesn't even work.

"Everything's jammed," she reports. "Gwen, you have to stay-"

Gwen steps defiantly across the threshold, her suit appearing just as her companions' had. 

"Everything's down, you already said it," she says, levelling her chin. "I'm no use out there, if you two can't contact me. And like hell I'm leaving you, anyway."

MJ's smile is small, but it's still there. "Gwen..." she starts.

"I don't wanna hear it, Jones," Gwen says, thwacking the back of MJ's legs gently with that damn palm frond. "We've got a spy to save and cool action poses to strike."

\-----

Luckily, all their multi-tools have small, but mighty flashlights, so they aren't flying completely blind.

Liz takes up the front, and Gwen the back, putting MJ between them without even thinking about it. It isn't that she can't fight, but she's best suited to having time to calculate before acting.

"All right, we're approaching a split. Left or right, girls?"

Liz can feel MJ's breath in the crook of her neck as she peeks over her shoulder to observe their two options. She tries to tune out the way her exhales ruffle the wispy hairs at the base of her neck, but ultimately fails, letting it sweep her away for merely one second.

"Right," MJ says.

\-----

"How can one _ski lodge_ have so many _tunnels_! It's not that deep!" Gwen hisses. "Underground mazes aren't cool! They compromise the integrity of the earth if they aren't done properly and I guarantee this bullshit isn't done right!"

Liz covers her mouth with her hand to muffle the laughter that expands in her chest. 

"I know you aren't laughing, this is a serious issue, Liz," Gwen says, swinging around to shine her flashlight's beam as close to Liz's face as possible.

\-----

The tunnel twists and twines _forever_. It continuously slopes and bends and loops. Liz actually has to agree with Gwen in the fact that this can't be safe for anything above it.

"If we die down here I'm haunting whoever thought this was a fun, quirky idea," Gwen grumbles as the tunnel begins to narrow.

MJ presses her palms against what she believes to be particle board walls as if it'll hold them in place. Her breathing starts to shallow as they all realize there's no letting up, and Liz immediately throws her hand back blindly, hoping MJ will take the offering.

One smooth palms slides against Liz's rougher one, and squeezes tightly. In lieu of acknowledgement, MJ's left hand rises up and presses against the ceiling as she counts her breaths.

In, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four.

"Just a little farther," Liz coaxes. "Just a little bit more, Chelle."

And they continue on for a whopping three more minutes before they hang a sharp corner and-

"Liz," Gwen calls from the back of the pack. "Is that-"

"Yeah."

A plain, white door that you could buy at any home improvement store stands just ahead of them. Like any regular front stoop.

"Go, go," MJ urges through sharp breaths. " _Go._ "

They pick up the pace, finding the high gear to their high gear, and hit the door with enough combined force that the measly lock buckles and they all tumble through it in a heap.

Liz groans under the weight of both of her teammates, but is already pushing herself up. In circumstances like these it isn't the smartest to be unaware.

"Took you guys long enough," a rasping voice manages. "Watch out, by the way."

All Liz hears before all hell breaks loose is a soft string of curses from Gwen.

\-----

So, the current tally is this:

Seven hulking goons in the usual all black ensembles had funneled into the room just after the trio had crashed the party.

The room is big enough to hold all ten of them, or it would be if this were a bbq, but it's a fight, and so the white walls, ceiling, and tiled floor can only contain so much.

There is one captive on the other side of said room, giving helpful pointers depsite her state.

MJ is still shaken from their cramped trek, and Liz is worried about her, thus, Gwen is worried about the both of them.

That gets you caught up.

\-----

Liz's knuckles _ache_. She can't feel split skin beneath her gloves, so there's no blood to speak of, but the bruises are trying to make up for that particular lack thereof.

There's still two henchmen standing, the rest sprawled unpeacefully on the floor with blood in their teeth and knots beneath their skin.

MJ is standing tall against one of the men, her hands that had trembled as they entered the room now still and trained. Liz is working on her own, not holding her punches or calculating her kicks. Gwen is running interference.

Usually, they're done of this part by now. But usually, they have their gadgets and gizmos galore.

MJ lands one painful, spot-on uppercut and it's enough to distract Liz's own charge long enough for her to land a body-slumping hit.

MJ's goon is unfazed, though, it seems, retaliating with a jaw-rattling hit that even Liz can feel in her teeth. Her heart hammers into overdrive, and she's immediately considering plan after plan on how to end this.

"Gwen!" Liz calls, and all it takes is one split-second of eye contact for them to know what happens next.

"MJ move!" Gwen bellows as Liz starts running at her, arms pumping and thigh muscles preparing.

MJ has just enough time to throw herself to the ground before Liz's foot is in Gwen's clasped hands, launching her forward.

She spins end over end in mid-air. Maturally, her legs press together, and her feet brace for her target impact.

The flats of her feet presses into the goon's chest, her knees bend, and she sends him crashing backward into the nearest wall, head lolling unconscious against his chest.

She lets her feet slide so even though she hits the ground hard, she's still on her feet by the end of it.

For a few moments, all that can be heard is the heavy breathing of the three spies as they take a minute to recover from the fight.

"As badass as that was, ladies," that captive voice says. "I'd love a little rescuing with my show."

"Oh, shit!" Gwen yelps in surprise, hand pressing against her chest, just over her heart.

MJ's the closest to her, and so makes it to her first, tearing at her bindings with all her might.

"Lizzie," MJ calls after a moment, her words pained. Liz can already see the bruise forming on her skin. "Help me out here?"

And so Liz moves toward the woman.

The woman is in a suit just like their's, rough charcoal, extending neckline and arms and legs. Her sheen is white, as are her booties and her hand wrappings - "A girl after my own heart," Gwen would say of the wrappings if she were at full capacity - but her calling card. 

It's a scarlet kerchief pulled up over her nose.

"Codename: Silk, right?" Liz asks of the woman - looking at her eyes, though, Liz thinks she must be their age, no older than Liz's tentative 21.

"The one and only," Silk replies.

Liz nods, taking her word for it, and draws the blade she'd picked up earlier from her back, handing it over to an unsuspecting MJ.

"You just had this on hand?" MJ deadpans, levelling her amused gaze over Silk's shoulder.

"I saw it and I just had to have it," Liz said with a grin.

With one definitive snap, the thick, heavy ropes fall away and Silk brings her hands around in front of her so she can massage at her wrists.

MJ hands the knife back to Liz and circles back around, Gwen pushing up to Liz's other side, so they can stand as a united front before the woman in front of them.

"Thanks for the assist," Silk says finally. "They caught me off guard with the ah, dampening thing? Shit went south real quick."

"No problem," Gwen replies.

Silk's eyebrows pull together, and her head finally lifts to look at the three of them square in their faces.

Liz can taste the tension in the air as the black-haired woman looks them over, bloodied fingers rising to her face and pulling her mask down.

"Academic decathalon," she says to MJ and Liz, before turning a cheek-splitting grin on Gwen. "Debate team."

Liz is so wrapped up in her confusion that she barely even registers the flames that lick at Gwen's pale cheeks.

"Cindy?" MJ asks.

\-----

"And because I was recruited when I was so young, I've had more time to move up in the ranks and all," Cindy says, winding down her explanation. "That's what's with codename. My real name wasn't cutting it anymore, not with the ops they were sending me on, too dangerous- ow!"

"Sorry, sorry," Gwen murmurs as she dabs antiseptic over Cindy's scrapes and cuts. There's a particularly nasty gash down the side of her face thats Gwen's been at for a while, her fingers carefully holding some hairs that had fallen from Cindy's loose ponytail back.

"But again, thank you for the rescue mission. I know they're some of the most emotionally draining ones to go on because you don't know just what you'll find, and lesser agents would've just left me to rot, but you guys didn't. It means a lot, and if I can ever help you guys out, please feel free to get in touch. You guys have an Interface, right?"

 _Hello, Miss Moon,_ Interface intones.

"Sweet. Hey, Interface, open a new contact."

_Contact open, please input a valid phone number or other extension._

Cindy rattles off a quick New York area code number.

"That's my personal number. Top secret," she explains. "Don't hesitate to use it."

_Contact saved as Cindy Moon, mobile number._

"Interface, change Cindy Moon contact name to Cindy Moon spider web emoji, moon emoji, gold medal emoji," Liz calls out.

_Contact saved as Cindy Moon spider web emoji, moon emoji, gold medal emoji_

"Gold medal?" Cindy asks with a quirked brow.

Surprisingly, MJ is the one to interject. From where she lays sprawled across the couch Cindy and Gwen aren't occupying, she says, "Oh, don't act like you don't remember the sophomore awards ceremony, Moon."

Immediately, Cindy flushes pink. "Nooo," she cries faintly. "Anything but that!"

"She walked out with like four medals and a couple certificates," Liz explains to Gwen. "She couldn't even hold them all for pictures."

"It was so embarassing," Cindy adds. "I was _mortified_ for weeks."

"To be fair whatever Cindy didn't win Lizzie probably did," MJ cut in.

"Shut up!" Liz squawked. 

"Oh, so _now_ you regret bringing it up?" Cindy accuses, trying not to grin an interrupt Gwen's work.

"You're all set," Gwen tells her as she lays one more bandage down, swiftly cutting off the possible bickering. "Just keep those cleaned, okay?"

"Thanks, Gwen," Cindy replies with the softest smile.

Quickly, Gwen gathers up all her supplies and shuffles them into her arms. Liz jumps to her feet to help her before she topples everything to the ground. Tucking the first aid kit under her arm, Liz follows Gwen toward their storage area.

The last thing they hear before they slip into the hallway is Interface intoning, _Calling Peter Parker, spider emoji, red heart emoji, Statue of Liberty emoji._

Gwen parks herself in front of their first aid cabinet and begins shuffling things around so she can return them to the right place.

Liz takes a tight hold of the inside of her cheek with her teeth and watches Gwen's methodical movements intently, trying to phrase her question correctly.

Gwen finally takes the box from her hands and slides it back into its cubby hole. 

Fearing she'll miss her chance, Liz blurts, "So you've got a thing for Cindy?"

Gwen slumps forward, pillowing her arms under her before she lets her forehead fall forward dangerously fast. Skin smacks upon skin as she groans, one long, drawn out sound. 

"It's that obvious?" she moans.

"I mean…" Liz trails, finally punctuating her words with a small shrug. 

Gwen groans loudly into her skin, shaking her hair around her head. "She and I always got paired for debates when our schools went up against one another," she explains forlornly. "I had this huge, stupid crush on her that I _thought_ went away after I, y'know, had to drop debate club and then didn't see her for like four years."

Liz hums softly in agreement. "I feel that," she murmurs under her breath.

"Right?" Gwen says, rolling her head so she can peek one eye up at Liz. "I don't wanna go back out there, Liz."

"Aw, Gwen," Liz mumbles, reaching forward to rub small circles into Gwen's shoulder. "C'mon, it'll be fine. You've got MJ and I to buffer."

"Can you buffer my nonexistent brain to mouth filter?" she asks.

"Probably not," Liz acquiesces with tugging lips. "But that nonexistent filter _is_ how you got me, and I've been told I'm pretty great."

Gwen's body rocks gently as laughter falls over her lips. "You're all right," she retorts, but still straightens herself back up and moves toward the door. 

"Thanks, Liz," she mumbles, reaching out to squeeze her best friend's hand quickly before they move back toward the common area.

**Author's Note:**

> im on tumblr @desertrosetico !


End file.
